This question was actually quite easy to answer. The simplest approach was that since the High Priest had asked it in a joking tone, he could simply respond in jest.
However, in that brief instant, Foden still reviewed his recent work, filtering out and eliminating any oversights that might have occurred lately to see if there was any vulnerability that matched the High Priest's joke.
Sometimes, when superiors wanted to warn you without an open falling-out, they would do so in the guise of a joke. If you failed to catch on in the first stage and didn't make timely corrections, what awaited you would be far more direct criticism.
Of course, he might just be overthinking it; perhaps the man had simply cracked a harmless joke. But the question was: who dared to underthink it?
At Foden's level, the people who could make him feel fear were few and far between. Yet while the number of such people had dwindled, the depth of that fear had grown all the more profound.
After a fleeting moment of thought, Foden replied, "Please rest assured, High Priest. I will keep a close eye on the Temple. They should be searching more diligently than anyone else."
Foden steered the conversation away. The High Priest had asked about someone who was like "himself in his youth," but Foden referred to a successor.
The friction between the High Priest and the Temple had long been half-public. Yet because of Norton's sheer dominance and the underlying "identity" behind him, the Temple had no choice but to back down before him time and time again.
Furthermore, although the Temple of Order, like the "Temples" of other religious sects, inherited the negative attributes of being a transcendent power detached from the Holy See, at least the Temple of Order was willing to consider the greater good.
Consequently, the struggle between both sides would likely not erupt into total conflict during Norton's reign. Instead, the Temple's attention had already shifted predominantly to the candidate for the next High Priest.
For this term, everyone held their noses and swallowed it; for the next term, they absolutely could not let another "Norton" take power.
This was virtually an open secret. In the past, the Temple had held a transcendent status, but now it was frequently intervening in communications and connections among factions, keeping in particularly close contact with the prospective standard-bearers of certain factions.
To this, the High Priest had no grounds to object. Although he had strictly forbidden the Temple's tentacles from reaching into the Holy See, the Temple was ostensibly merely showing concern for "the education and development of the next generation" without specifically meddling in the Holy See's operations, which did not constitute a breach of rules.
Foden's response left the High Priest feeling somewhat underwhelmed. Yet sometimes, for one's own safety, one had to learn to deflect attention away from oneself, even at the cost of shaving off some goodwill. Looked at from another perspective, wasn't goodwill accumulated precisely to be spent at moments like this?
The High Priest said, "If they want to look, let them look. I'm actually quite looking forward to seeing who they choose."
Foden said, "I imagine they certainly wish to choose another Lord Rasma."
"Heh. If they truly pick another Rasma, far from obstructing them, I would even help them push it through."
Foden fell silent. As a core confidant of the High Priest, there were things he might not know for sure, but it was impossible not to have sensed them—especially in hindsight.
For instance, the relationship between his High Priest and the former Rasma might truly not be as ordinary as outsiders imagined.
"We always say young people don't see things deeply or clearly enough because of their lack of experience. In fact, those old fellows are just the same. Those guys who are two hundred, three hundred, or nearly four hundred years old certainly don't lack experience, but they stay cooped up in that Temple all the time, detached from actual administrative work. Add to that their advancing age, and their eyes inevitably grow cloudy."
This was practically an explicit hint.
Foden remained silent.
"Just keep an eye on the Temple, but there's no need to dig too deep. It is the Temple, after all; we must leave them some dignity."
"Yes, High Priest, I understand."
With that, the High Priest waved his hand. Foden bowed once more and walked out of the administrative temple.
Back in his carriage, Foden closed his eyes and slowly let out a breath.
He began to chew over the High Priest's question in his mind: What had been its true intent?
*Karen is like me in my youth, but the young me didn't know how to fight wars... In fact, even now, I don't.*
The higher a person's position, the easier it was to lose self-awareness amidst the flattery of those around them. Foden, however, did not. His mind and perception had always remained crystal clear.
He couldn't fight wars, and that was that. Although he had commanded large-scale Whip of Order operations on the front lines in pioneering spatial dimensions before, that was fundamentally different from a corps-level holy war between religious sects.
Looking back now, Foden realized the fundamental reason Karen had managed to obtain the post of Whip of Order Corps Commander from him was that Karen had displayed the very same self-awareness as himself.
He had claimed he didn't know how to wage war, that he would follow orders in everything, and that he wouldn't harbor ideas of his own.
This clear self-awareness had aligned almost perfectly with Foden's mindset, while also catering to Foden's instinctive urge to protect his own power base.
"Tsk..."
A sneer touched the corner of Foden's lips.
As it turned out, he had been duped. From the initial Yorktown Region Militia Regiment to the current Whip of Order Legion, a succession of swift, cost-effective victories lay right before his eyes. If one still claimed this kid didn't know how to fight a war, wouldn't that make the commanders on the Allied coalition's side nothing more than swine-type monster beasts in human shape?
This feeling made Foden extremely uncomfortable. It made him feel that Karen had completely grasped his mindset, psychology, and behavioral patterns.
What Foden didn't know, however, was that while Karen had indeed anticipated these things in advance, in reality—at least before setting out—he truly hadn't known how to wage war.
Perhaps it was precisely this pure awareness of "I don't know" that had moved Foden; after all, sincerity was the ultimate trump card.
Foden's thoughts turned again: *The High Priest implied I had found myself in my youth. Then, who had the real "myself in my youth" followed back then?*
Yet Foden quickly discarded this notion. Given the High Priest's temperament, he wouldn't be petty enough to seize on a subordinate's verbal slip and branch out into paranoid taboos.
The carriage rolled forward, and Foden's contemplation did not cease.
Spending so much effort overanalyzing a seemingly casual joke from the High Priest might appear overly cautious or even obtuse. In truth, Foden understood clearly that what kept him pondering it for so long was the fact that his subconscious regarded the remark as critically important.
This was his instinct, and also the professional acumen of the Church of Order's foremost spymaster.
Finally, the carriage came to a halt.
Miguel opened the door. Foden stepped down, and the moment his boots hit the ground, his gaze happened to fall upon the grand gate of the Whip of Order Headquarters.
In that instant—
The scene of the High Priest holding a cigar and asking him that question surfaced once more in his mind. At the same time, the memory replayed in reverse, filtering anew every detail of his earlier conversation with the High Priest.
Foden's facial muscles stiffened, and his motion of stepping out of the carriage froze.
Seeing this, Miguel immediately lowered his head, daring neither to inquire nor to urge him.
Aside from feeling somewhat muddle-headed recently whenever dealing with matters concerning Karen, in all other aspects Miguel still maintained the consummate professionalism expected of the chief secretary.
Foden had figured it out. An appalling thought surged within his heart:
*The High Priest is considering the matter of a successor!*
Foden's body began to tremble faintly. How long had the High Priest occupied that seat, and he was already pondering this question?
Neither of them was young anymore. Although they enjoyed the finest medical care in the Church, which, combined with their personal prowess, made them appear relatively "youthful," in terms of chronological age, people of their generation were old enough to hold grandchildren.
Yet at the apex of power in the Church, such an age was still regarded as prime and vigorous.
Foden's hand clutched the blanket slipping from his knees. Due to misfortunes in his youth, his body had long suffered from cold poison. Although treated and suppressed so that it never underwent corruptive mutation, it had inflicted enduring physical and mental torment upon him.
*So, has something gone wrong with the High Priest's body as well?*
This meant the question the High Priest had posed was no joke at all. Rather, hearing Foden mention "myself in my youth" had struck a chord, prompting the High Priest to speak from the heart.
Foden's gaze turned solemn. If his intuition was correct, then his future position was suddenly plunged into utter uncertainty.
The people of his faction had all risen to power by hitching their wagons to the High Priest. In recent years, centered around the High Priest, they had engaged in a series of fierce power struggles against other factions within the Church.
If the High Priest no longer held that seat, or retired early, then the fate of his circle...
And his own post would undoubtedly be among the very first to be hit. For whichever faction rose to power—no, regardless of which new High Priest ascended—the post of "Whip-Wielder" would inevitably be replaced by the newcomer's own confidant.
Logically, having anticipated this situation in advance, even purely out of the human instinct for survival, he ought to seize the time to make preparations. Even if he couldn't hope to extend his pinnacle of power, he should at least secure a guarantee for his lifestyle and treatment once stripped of the core of authority.
Yet Foden knew all too well that he could do nothing. The moment such thoughts sprouted and showed even the slightest manifestation, what awaited him would be the thunderous wrath of the High Priest.
The master he served was least able to tolerate betrayal. You could bury it in the depths of your heart, but you must never make the slightest move; otherwise, you would meet the same end as Daina's father.
"Cough..."
Foden coughed.
In that instant, he suddenly felt as though his own health had taken a turn for the worse as well.
...
After concluding his meeting with Foden, Norton's figure slowly submerged. He arrived beneath the administrative temple, where lay a muddy, chaotic beach.
In the sea, a colossal tortoise floated half-submerged. Serving as the foundation of the administrative temple, Basse, hailed as the Divine Beast of Wisdom, looked upon the entering Norton and let out a sigh:
"High Priest... I am beginning to fear this step."
Norton smiled and asked, "I had thought your long memories would have made you numb."
Basse said helplessly, "It is you I fear, High Priest."
"As well you should."
Norton sat down on a rock beside the muddy shore, still holding a cigar in his hand, quietly puffing on it.
Before long, another Norton appeared there. Then came a third, a fourth, a fifth...
They wore different attire, corresponding respectively to the High Priest's outfits for various occasions. One among them was even dressed in secular clothing.
He walked up to Norton and said, "I set fire to the homes of those authors. Now, every one of them has been reduced to a pauper. I am confident that in the coming days, an immense writing passion will erupt from them, and they will become remarkably prolific."
Upon hearing this, Norton smiled.
All the surrounding "Nortons" smiled as well.
Foden had once told Karen that the High Priest had many hobbies, but each time he disposed of someone by his side, he would abandon one of them. For example, the High Priest used to play the harmonica very well, and on that night outside the doorway of the subordinate who was executed, he played the harmonica for the last time.
Yet there was one hobby the High Priest had always kept, with no intention for now of using it as a "funerary sacrifice"—and that was...
On the beach stood a crowd of "Nortons."
Basse's body surfaced a bit further, and around its massive frame formed a sea of ghostly blue flames.
The cigar in Norton's hand was finished as well. He spoke: "Learning from past lessons, I have kept two this time. One can sit in the administrative temple to handle official duties for me, and one can attend the meetings I cannot temporarily decline in my stead.
"So, you don't need to worry about work affairs. Go in peace."
"Then let's go."
"Farewell."
"Come, together."
"Let's be off."
No melodrama, no embellishment, no resentment, no lingering regret—just like a group of people who were not particularly close gathering for a meal, and after eating, casually leaving their seats to head home.
Even though what awaited them was death.
And this atmosphere was precisely what frightened Basse the most.
Could anyone imagine a scene where this crowd harbored not the slightest grievance against their "original self," calmly accepting and facing their demise?
What was even more terrifying was that sometimes Basse would also catch itself wondering: did that High Priest, whose fingertips still bore the warmth of a cigar, truly remain the original self all along?
Was there a possibility that, in the purest sense, the High Priest's original self had already perished... in a previous purge?
He might not even care about the distinction of the original self at all. In any case, they were all the same.
One by one, the Nortons walked onto the water's surface, naturally stepping into the sea of flames summoned by Basse.
Their bodies were enveloped in fire, yet they continued conversing among themselves as if nothing were amiss.
Some discussed golf swing techniques; some discussed the plot progression of a certain book; some lamented the recent decline in cigar quality; others remarked that burning to death was too slow and suggested adopting a cleaner method in the future—such as choosing one "Norton" to slay all the others with a sword, which would also brush up their swordsmanship lest they grow rusty from serving as High Priest for too long.
Before long, only circles of black marks remained upon the surface of the sea. Basse opened its mouth and inhaled all the tangible and intangible traces into its gullet.
Once everything had been dealt with, Basse spoke:
"Your problem is growing more and more severe."
Norton smiled faintly. "Either I lose myself in it, or I grow accustomed to it."
"As the High Priest, you should possess the confidence for the latter, but at the same time, you must make necessary preparations for the former."
"This is not a matter on which you may voice an opinion, Basse. You have overstepped."
"I am willing to accept the punishment of flogging."
"Yet I am in no mood to discipline you today. After all, having just seen off so many friends, my spirits are somewhat low."
"Please accept my condolences."
"Heh."
...
Temple of Order.
In the Astral Hall where the Scythe of War was enshrined, a white-haired elder sat in the central seat, surrounded by dozens of temple elders.
The age of every single person present would be a terrifying existence if placed in the secular world.
"The God's demands are growing greater and greater."
Hearing this, the other elders present fell silent.
The elder spoke again: "Fortunately, things on Rasma's end should be concluding soon. He, along with the replenishment he brings, will help share a considerable portion of the burden."
Everyone nodded in succession.
The elder sighed helplessly. "He is a great loss to our Temple. In several centuries—at least in my memory—I have never seen a figure like him within our Church. Especially under the current circumstances, with the return of the gods imminent, he could have become a new pillar for our Temple's operations and external affairs."
Hearing this, Xiti chimed in, "He is a traitor. He defied the God of Order."
No one present refuted Xiti, because what that man had done could no longer even be adequately captured by the word "traitor." The only reason an official verdict had been withheld until now was also out of consideration for the greater good.
"Very well. This is the compiled list you submitted to me. All of you entered the Temple within the past two centuries, and you still retain your connections within the Church, which is precisely why you were asked to select the candidates.
"Remember, there is one point I must make clear: our Temple is not seeking confrontation with the current High Priest. Although many of his ways are indeed not what we wish to see, the Temple still acknowledges his competence so far.
"However, shifting times will not allow the Temple to continue lagging behind the Holy See. When the curtain on the return of the gods truly rises, our Temple is destined to stand on the front lines of safeguarding the Church. This is an inescapable mission for us.
"Therefore, we must carefully deliberate, observe, and assess the candidates for the next High Priest, ideally making early contact and providing guidance.
"Look over the candidates on this list and see if anyone has been overlooked. Considering the age of the current High Priest, the age bracket of our candidates may be relaxed as well."
The elders present began reviewing the list, with several offering additions from time to time.
For the Temple, this was tantamount to a Church-wide open selection.
Xiti examined the list, frowned slightly, and said, "A fair number of candidates have family backgrounds that are too prominent. They do not meet the criteria."
A temple elder beside her retorted, "It is also time for certain rules to be modified and relaxed a bit. Those with family ties are easier to constrain."
Xiti disagreed: "Yet this touches upon the very foundation of our Church. Besides, didn't Rasma lack a family background as well? He performed admirably."
The elder spoke up: "A prominent family background is a point of deduction. We shall still prioritize candidates with clean family backgrounds."
This was merely smoothing things over. Deep down, everyone had been rattled by Norton; after all, candidates with families had deeper and wider entanglements of interest, making them easier to guide and cooperate with—or rather, better suited for the infusion of Temple power and easier to control.
Xiti spoke: "Since the age bracket can be broadened in light of Norton's extended tenure, I would like to supplement a young candidate."
"Go ahead."
"He comes from an orphan background, which aligns best with our Church of Order's tradition for High Priests.
"Though young, he has repeatedly rendered meritorious service and received honors in recent years, rising swiftly through the ranks. Just before I arrived here for this council, I received fresh word from outside that he commanded a legion in the desert and achieved another major battle triumph. Barring any accidents, once he returns after the war to report on his duties, he will become a figure capable of standing on his own within his branch of the system.
"Among the cadre under his command, family scions predominate, each from illustrious lineage. This proves he is adept at embracing the infiltration and assistance of family factions and is willing to cooperate.
"Most importantly, during the previous operation to capture the assassin, the assassin entered that forbidden zone, bringing Karen into contact with Rasma, who left a mark upon Karen. In addition, Rasma's student also serves under him.
"This proves he is someone favored and chosen by Rasma.
"I believe that anyone chosen by Rasma will not disappoint us."
"Xiti, I know who you're talking about. Heh, that young man named Karen Silva. He has become quite renowned within the Church in recent years, especially in places like Order University, where many young members of the Church revere him as an idol."
"I believe the young man Xiti suggested can be added to the candidate list. He is young enough. Being young means he can easily outlast the current High Priest's tenure. By the time this one steps down, he will still be considered 'relatively very young,' which will afford our Temple a far more lasting return on this investment."
The white-haired elder nodded. "Then add him in."
With that, the elder smiled and said, "Let us not be overly tense or grave. Someone like the current High Priest won't appear a second time in thousands—no, tens of thousands of years. Our Lord Tyrannus isn't that idle either; in the historical records of our Church, the number of his descents is the lowest of all.
"In short...
"Even if we choose our candidates with our eyes closed, we will not produce an outcome worse than the current High Priest."
Chapter 801